


Who he had

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Angst, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	Who he had

He hadn't quite expected the man to creep up behind him, nor the warmth of body contact, the pressure of those thin arms sweeping around him and pressing firm.

He had just gotten his vest unbuttoned, was preparing to take off his undershirt, tired from the long day and very much wanting to just fall asleep, the tents cozy insides layered with fur blankets and warming after the chill of outside autumn air. But apparently someone else had different plans.

A cold nose pressed to his shoulder, the dip of his bare neck, the brush of lips, and Wilson huffed, a little exasperated perhaps from the suddenness of it, just barely past the tents door. Not as if he ever really gave much warning either, but being surprised out here wasn't usually a good thing.

“Is this really necessary?” He leaned back, into the touch, felt a thin chest breath deep and press to his spine, and those long hands messaged over his shirt, bunched up the fabric in slow, sweeping touches over his chest, his sides and ribs. “I'm tired you know.”

Maxwell hummed, quiet, still pressing his cold face to Wilsons warm skin, pulling him closer as to have him pressed flush to his chest. His greasy hair was tangling up even more so, pressed to the other man's rather worn suit jacket, and after a moment Wilson raised his clawed hands and laid them on the brittle ones currently feeling him up, stilling their movements for a moment.

His talons were dulled down, not at all sharp, and he massaged the man's knuckles, pressed between fingers and laid his palms to wrinkled skin, felt the man behind him shiver and huddle closer to him. 

It was always the hands, Wilson thought idly, cupping his own fingers and curling over knobby hands, warming up the colder skin with his own. It was almost a surprise, to not feel leather gloves this time, but perhaps Maxwell has finally accepted defeat and recognized those old worn things have given up the ghost. Being torn apart and sewn back together so many times really wore down the life in leather.

But full skin to skin contact was almost a rarity, and Wilson let the man curl about him and hold him close, taking the time to enjoy the hands in his own for the time being.

Then he carefully took hold of one of Maxwell's hands, claws delicately interwoven between thin fingers, and he pressed the palm against his lips, breathed deep and let the warmed air from his mouth wash over worn skin, let the other man curl his fingers ever so slightly. That shiver was strong, the pressure of having someone try so, so very hard to get closer, to press so closely together, and this was the closest Wilson would ever get to kissing the man.

Maxwell may pepper him with soft kisses as much as he pleased, sometimes all too desperate at the corners of his mouth, but anything passed that was a no no. Wilson couldn't stand much more than that, not like this, not with this person, and it was truly his only verbally spoken rule.

Maxwell was not allowed to fully kiss him, and he himself was never going to kiss the other man in any such way. The palm against his lips was the one of the only exceptions, and even then sometimes he wondered if it was too much.

The quivering man curled about him spoke enough in this silence, and Wilson sighed, sank into the warmth of contact for just a few minutes more.

It might have ended there, quiet comfort in each other's company, to lay down and drift asleep. But slowly those roaming hands came back to life, the one at his mouth staying still, basking in his breath, as the other slipped from his loose grip and started once more to feel him over, massage his sides and belly through soft fabric. It took a moment to realize Maxwell had uncurled his legs around his sides, pulling him carefully flush in a better position, pressed together like ill fitting puzzle pieces.

“Still?” His voice lacked conviction, and it wasn't as if he was adverse to the idea. It was just that sleep seemed just as good.

“I thought you were the one with all the energy.” Not much of a question, grumbled into his ear, and it seemed as if his body heat was working now since the other man's nose wasn't as cold as before, pressed to his bare skin. 

“I'm not some pervert, _pal_ , I have a sense of decency.”

The roaming hand stopped, stilled, and he could feel Maxwell stiffen up about him, the hand held to his face growing heavy.

“So…?”

The question didn't even have to be aired, and it made Wilson even more exasperated. He could forget, sometimes, that this sort of thing wasn't very verbal to Maxwell; a little word play and suddenly he'd accidentally kill the mood.

Rolling his eyes, Wilson made his own answer, bringing that limp hand in his claws to his lips once more, this time pressing more detail into the kiss, more energy, brushing his lips to each individual finger, soft and warm.

Slowly but surely Maxwell warmed up to it, still and silent in the beginning but becoming more lulled, and Wilson was adversed to using his tongue but for a brief moment he flicked the man's palm, licked the crook between index and middle finger, and the shudder and tightness of the man gripping him from the simple act almost made him laugh.

And, truly, Maxwell didn't taste all that bad. Salt, dirt, sweat, the ever so slight hint of spiced oil, practically ingrained into his skin at this point, and Wilson hummed when those long fingers twitched, pressed to his lips and wiped damp trails across his cheeks.

“You tease me, then…” Trailed off, Maxwell pressing his own kiss to his naked neck, not at all daunted by his greasy hair, his free hand going back to its petting. “Sometimes I wonder…”

“You shouldn't.” Wilson finally let out an airy chuckle, relaxing his grip and allowing the other man to take back his hand. “You'll hurt yourself if you try too hard.”

Maxwell huffed at that, recognized the jest, and Wilson could feel the grin on the mans face, pressed to his skin, the thin rise and fall of the chest against his back.

One hand prodded about his belly, fiddled with the band of his trousers, and Wilson made a short noise of displeasure and lightly swatted it away, grumbling in mock irritation.

“It'll take a bit more than this for me to feel “up” to it, you know.” That smile pressed to his neck, hands surrendering slowly and instead taking interest with his rumpled shirt, plucking at the buttons as Maxwell hummed quietly. “Try a little harder, Max. I don't give up that easily.”

“Oh, is that so, Higgsbury?” So full of himself, Wilson knew, and he rolled his eyes, though a small smile was forming on his face. His own misgivings and bias aside, even he couldn't deny how nice it felt, soft touch and pleasure between each other.

Those hands found their way under his rumpled shirt, pushing upwards and trailing fingertips over his skin, bony ribs and pudgy gut, and Wilson let out a half tickled sigh, wiggling ever so slightly in the thin man's embrace. This sort of touch would get to him, and quickly, what with hands feeling him up and down, brushing over his chest and rubbing his more sensitive areas with focused attention, and Maxwell's warm breath ghosted his neck as the man turned his head and nuzzled into his hair with a deep, stuttered sigh.

Sometimes, Wilson wondered if they shared the same feelings, of this being between the wrong people. Perhaps Maxwell closed his eyes as well, imagined it was someone different that he pressed himself to. It was a silly idea, one that should bring him comfort in the mutual feeling but instead just made his gut turn in discomfort.

He may not like the man, but the thought that Maxwell had chosen him, of all people, was a horrible nagging one. As if this wasn't being fed by loneliness and the past acts of a perverted monstrous King. He may not speak of it, but Wilson knew what the man wanted of him, his body, and the only thing stopping him now was that he had no power, no control anymore, and that his actions had dire consequences.

He remembered shadows and claws and desperately hissing growls, snarls as shadow hands came creeping out from the darkness. He knew what the man was capable of.

And yet, still, here he was, allowing him to touch him, to pet him over, as if he had been forgiven already.

At least this time around, Maxwell could not force the kissing. Wilson had power in this, on every part of it, and it was his choice.

Truly, being alone, in this place, changed who a person was, and having sat upon that Throne himself Wilson knew it as well as Maxwell did.

The difference here was, that he was trying to learn through his fallacies. 

And, at least for him, he had Maxwell as an option. Back then, the older man had to snag him up and twist him into favorable shapes. Wilson didn't have to stoop so low for the desired effect.

Maxwell was enamored enough with him already, what more could he do? And as if he wished for it to deepen!

Warm wrinkled hands brushed over his chest, fingers touching over his nipples and pressing attention to his skin, and Wilson heavily sighed, a twinge of feeling pooling in his gut as he laid back his head, let the thin, taller man hold him up as he relaxed, closing his eyes. Maxwell's thin chest was rising against his back in deep breathes, warm air puffed against him and his hair, and feeling the man scooted as close as possible, feeling Maxwells groin pressed to his backside and legs drawn close about his waist, was enough to start stirring him.

And Maxwell was attentive enough to notice, Wilson realized, a small smile working its way on his face. But good lord, did getting touched like this, so softly and so wantonly, make him get more into the mood.

This time the hands at his trousers were more hesitant, warm and soft, and Wilson didn't even bother shooing them away. The tent in his pants was enough, and he hummed quietly, eyes half open as he watched those old hands work their way past his clothes, bunching the fabric as his trousers were slid down. His boxers were next, half hard member tenting the fabric, but there was a moment where he felt Maxwell stutter in a tight, excited breath, face buried into his greasy hair yet feeling his gaze, knowing the man was looking over his shoulder to his exposed groin. Fingers ghosted over the clothe, his stirring member sensitive to the touch, and Wilson quietly exhaled as he watched.

They've done this before, and mostly this, Maxwell at his back and hands stroking over him with an almost heavenly attention, yet everytime felt new, sensitive, fresh. Perhaps it was just the fact that they didn't get to do it often, or that Wilson hardly remembered things other than teeth and claws from before the man behind him lost his demonhood. Either way, he let his arms settle, loosely draping over the mans spread legs about his sides, claws just barely clasping Maxwells pants legs, and tilted his head back when he felt the man shift, plump lips pressing to his neck and peppering moist kisses to his bared skin.

What he was most focused on, however, were the exploring hands on his nether regions.

Fingers thumbed over his covered cock, half cupping as the man stroked him, slowly, more like getting a touch for him as his head was palmed and the touch tapered down to his base, rubbing up his exposed belly and then back over his boxers. Wilsons breath rose in deep intakes, keeping himself comfortable as Maxwell continued his ministrations, his short legs spreading ever so slightly as he lulled under the spreading feeling.

By the time he felt damp down there, nimble fingers massaging him through the fabric, Wilson was well and truly hard.

He huffed out a heavy breath, felt the barest of pressed teeth to his neck, Maxwell hot and close, clinging to him almost, and when Wilson felt the twinge in his belly, closing his eyes for a moment as skillful fingers curled to his leaking head, a short moan of noise finally escaping him in a puff, he decided that that was enough teasing. 

Raising one clawed hand to the man's face behind him, cupping a hollow cheek and the heat there, Wilson inhaled noisily, letting it go as those hands stilled a moment. Leaning his head against the other man's, feeling another stuttered intake of air against his back, he cleared his throat, free hand grabbing a firm hold onto a pant legging.

“Stop...teasing so much, Max.” He sighed, equal mixtures relief and longing as those damp hands went to the band of his boxers, letting him rest a moment. “You are much too good at this, pal.”

“Who else to practice on…” Lips pressed to under his ear, a warm, heavy kiss, each breath puffing against his now slightly sweating skin. “But you?”

A moment of hesitation, a pause, as if waiting, and Maxwell's voice was thick and deep with want and lust, heady emotion. 

“I'll make this good…” He waited, a beat passing, then another, before he whispered into Wilsons ear lowly. “If you wish?”

Wilson shivered, felt the other man curl about him tighter, hands teasing touch on his belly, and he took in a breath, waited a moment as he closed his eyes.

It was almost surprising, sometimes, to hear the man ask for consent. Ever since they started this, ever since the both of them were dethroned and left out in the wilds with each other, Maxwell has always asked.

It bothered Wilson, a bit, to know this. Before this, before knowing of the depths of this place, the planes stretched out with scattered portals and the dead end of a withered man tied down to a throne, before it all, Wilson has never, ever given a ‘yes’ to the unaired question.

And that had never stopped the Nightmare King.

It was different now, sure, but still he waited a moment, just to see.

And, like every time they've done this, Maxwell waited patiently, only moving ever so slightly to nuzzle into his hair, breath deep and exhale slowly.

Feeling him, pressed so close, those long fingers brushing patterns against his hot skin, was enough to make that warm pooling tinge in his gut stir, a twist that throbbed with his heartbeat.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was even asked now that made it more enjoyable. It gave him more control, which was something he wanted to feel when captured up by long limbs and a thin body, pressed close to his own.

“Go on then.”

Quick, blunt, to the point, but it was enough to not cause any drama, any ill feelings. 

Wilson wanted this, and it sure as hell should feel good, especially with Maxwell doing it to him.

Like the old man had said, who else to practice on but him? 

He shivered, laid back his head as his boxers were hastily shoved down, freeing him from damp warmth and into cooler air. Just the shift was enough to make him twitch, biting his lip as the chill air made his skin even more sensitive, bagged up trousers about his ankles forgotten.

Feeling those hands start up on his thighs, lazily brush up close to his nether regions and then away, was going to becoming maddening, especially since he could feel Maxwells breathing quicken, the press of the other man's hips to his backside in his excitement.

Just at the sight of how exposed he was! It was almost pathetic, in a way, but Wilson didn't think about that.

Right now, he really, really wanted those thin, soft hands to touch him.

But they didn't, smoothed over his skin and brushed patterns with soft, fragile fingertips, pressing to his exposed thighs and waist, rubbing almost playfully around his hip bones. Wilson endured it, for awhile, lazed back against the thin man's chest, breathing deep and keeping his mouth sealed tight when those fingers brushed a bit closer, almost as if to touch him, finally.

But eventually it became too much, this heat and warmth and touch, small cock throbbing with neglect as once more those hands grazed by, and Wilson could not stop the shudder of a breath from escaping him, the jerk of his hips in a shallow thrust to the air, eyes closing tight at the mix of feelings overwhelming him, the need of touch and skin to skin crawling up his throat.

“So impatient…” murmured Maxwell into his ear, lips brushing his face, and Wilson almost choked out a cry of relief when those long fingers wrapped around his member, the heat and warmth almost too much, too overwhelming. He couldn't articulate himself right now, never could in this state, so distracted, and he threw back his head, felt the other man's shoulder hold him as he shuddered, knees twitching before spreading as best as he could, the warm, steady pace starting up in quick, deep strokes.

God, he could stay like this forever, embraced by a warm body and lavished upon so! Right now, filled with lust and heart hammering in his chest, that hot pool in his gut bubbling as a thumb rubbed over his cock, pressing to the slit oozing with his pre, Wilson could care less that this was Maxwell at all really!

And then something hot and slick flicked over his ear, sucked on his earlobe before traveling down with brief flashes of teeth, and he was snapped out of the warm fantasy for a moment.

“T-that's disgusting-” His breath hitched, cut off as the grip on him unfolded, wrapped about his small member differently, and not even a moment passed before he had jerked his hips, pushing into that warmth, a gasp dropping from his panting lips and the tight, firm feeling was almost too blissful.

Another kiss was pressed to the side of his head, more tongue, and Maxwell leaned his head forward, above his shoulder, and Wilson winced at the wet touch pressed to his cheek, face scrunching up even as he fought the heat tempting him into rutting forward, to that release teasing him oh so much.

“What, this?” Maxwells voice was deep, baritone and thick with sexual tension, heaviness, and Wilson couldn't stop the moan as that grip circled to his head, barely touching him as his cock pulsed and throbbed in another's hands. He hardly had the mind to notice the tongue, licking the side of his face and jaw, over his stubble with a hum. “I'm not the one leaking all over my hands, pal.”

Wilson grunted at that, peeked out from heavy eyelids to look down, and the heat in him twinged, grew at the sight, of Maxwell's hand encircling his cock, streaked with Wilson's excited pre as those fingers got to work once more, strokes that kept the whole of him in that heat for the longest.

More licking, salvia on his face and plump kisses to his skin, the pace merciless and steady, and it didn't take long for Wilson to thrust up into that hand, chasing the warmth, for something more. 

Humping an older mans hand was not really what anyone wanted, but Wilson could feel his every excited, deep breath raising to his back, the slightest of squeezes in that hand and the other, trailing down his thigh, to cup and rub his base, the rest of him.

He was so, so close, leaking all over Maxwells hand as he huffed, dropped his head a bit to pant and thrust more, the drag and slide of skin to skin, own claws grabbing upon the older mans pants leggings and heaving a wheezed whimper.

Maxwell held him close, clung to him as he continued touching and rubbing the pleasure through him like music, god it was like music, loud trumpets and harmony as he finally let his gasping breath go, moaning and crying out faint words, groans of sound.

Maxwells name was on his lips, faintly whispered as he jerked his hips up, cock throbbing with want as those hands stroked him. The older man kept his chest right to Wilsons back, a comfortable seat to lean back upon almost as he gulped in hot air in deep, forgotten gasps. Hips pressed to his backside, a rub of cloth and the faint structure, flesh of another person, separated only by the thinnest of clothing, and it was almost enough, it was almost enough.

He stuttered when the hand pulled away, leaving him throbbing and hot, panting as he turned his head to press against the other man's face, his neck and throat with a quiet hiss of a whimper. His claws had a tight grip on the legs spread around him, bony knees brushed against with the clothing bunched in his talons, and god he was sweaty, damp with exertion and tense wanting, and gone were those thoughts, of Maxwell and the past and that horrid, terrible Throne.

This was happening, now, and he wanted it, his body wanted it, Maxwells chest pushed up against him and breath puffed, mixing as they both panted, Wilson's a bit more strained.

He almost got his voice back, swallowing thickly as he opened his eyes ever so slightly, and he caught sight of Maxwell's grip changing and he heaved in a breath when a palm was pressed to his cock, rubbing against his head and spreading pre with slow deliberation.

That other hand moved to circle his base, rub his sensitive skin in a myriad of touches that sent fireworks to his brain, a warm boil at the physical contact.

He was nearing the edge now, so close, Maxwell's breathing for a moment synchronizing with his own in deep, panting gasps, and Wilson closed his eyes, a whine escaping him when those fingers played upon his member, dragged those sweet feelings out and through him without subtlety. 

The pace had slowed, almost agonizing, and even his little half thrusts helped little, warm hand letting him fuck it in a slow, deliberate way. He shivered when Maxwells other, less preoccupied hand moved, brushed upwards, under his unbuttoned shirt, flat palmed as he started to rub Wilsons chest, play with his nipples and drag through his hair in long, gratifying strokes, just amplifying the overall feeling tenfold.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore, wheezing as he pressed his face against the other man's neck, felt him hum in satisfaction at Wilsons need, and he was whining in a plead, a whispered one, as if he didn't want anyone, ever, to hear him.

“P-please, Maxie, let me come.”

Just the use of the name made the other man shudder, tighten his hold and make Wilson gasp from the feeling, and it was exactly what he was aiming for.

The hips behind him ground forward, against his backside, and there was no thought on their differences here, nothing like that in Wilsons head but the imaginary feeling, of a hard length thrusted against his back, humped against as that hand tightened around his cock and finally, finally started to gratify him with warm, tight strokes, pulling at his skin and cupping about his leaking head, feeling his pulse quicken as he gasped, moaned out at the sensations. Maxwell turned his head, pressed his lips against his face, his cheek and forehead and everywhere he could possibly reach at this angle, before burying himself into Wilsons sweaty, greasy hair, huffing out breath as he grinded and clung to Wilson, free hand pulling him close on the chest, other hand speeding up the pace as Wilsons voice pitched, gasped even louder.

Words escaped him, fast, short, “oh god” and “faster” and “please”, and “n-mMaxie, oh Maxie”, and it seemed to invigorate the older man, warm hand flexing over Wilsons throbbing member.

It was the thought of Maxwell, grinding against him so haphazardly, imaginary cock pressed between them as Wilsons twitched in hot, slick hands, that finally sent him over the edge.

He released with a gasp, a soft call of the others name, hips up and stuttered in that grip that continued, stroking and spreading his seed in a slower, pleasure drawn pace, and then Wilson fell back, limp and shivery against the other man, eyes closed as he just breathed, in and out, deep breaths. The spot of bliss held, for a few moments more, Maxwells hand skillfully massaging him in the afterglow, slowing as his cock twitched and softened in his grip.

For a bit more, Maxwells warm hand just holding him, almost a comforting touch, Wilson stayed like that, his own cum spread over his member and splattered over his chest, which rose with each of his deep breaths.

Then Maxwell moved, hand and fingers swiping over him gently as his other hand pulled away to rest on his thigh, and he didn't have to open his eyes to know what the older man was doing with what he had released. It sent another twist of pleasurable feeling to his spent member, a throb at the thought of the other man licking his wet fingers, and Wilson huffed quietly, heart still hammering in his chest but slowly calming.

It was almost nice, to be cleaned like this. It'll still leave him sticky and just as gross feeling later, but Maxwells gentle hand on his skin, slick with cool saliva, was a nice aftermath.

He knew the other man had finished when he felt a face press to his head, into his hair and breath deep, arms resting around him and hands limp in his lap. Wilson also knew, however, that though Maxwell tried he never could hide just how pent up he truly was, especially pressed to him like this. It took a bit more than some humping to get the other man off.

Wilson waited a few moments more, a lull of quiet and warmth. He was tired, spent now, but even he couldn't just leave it as that.

If he did, Maxwell would either finish up later or go without, which Wilson still didn't quite understand as even an option. 

He loosened his grip on the man's pants, mind turning lazily, in his mind's eye already seeing what he wanted to do to the other man. Fucking him was always a pleasure, but he wasn't quite up to that right now, tired as he was from the day and what they've just finished. What he had in mind was as usual, very much like what had happened just now.

Just a change in positions, was all it took.

Maxwell paused a moment behind him, as if noticing just how tense and ready he had gotten, but it was too late and he let out a huff of noise, almost a growl as Wilson swung about and pushed him over.

For a moment there was a struggle, Wilson wheezing out a laugh at the almost absurdity of it, and that seemed to calm the other man enough that Wilson was able to get him on his stomach, pressing his chest to Maxwell's bony back. 

“You could've at least warned me, Higgsbury!” Maxwell hissed at him, muffled by the fact that Wilson was keeping his weight pressed down, the older mans face shoved up against fur blankets before turning to the side to eye him irritatedly. “How rude, and just after what I did for you!”

Wilson chuckled, feeling a bit more excited now that he was on top, and laid himself down for a moment, bare chest against a thin spine and nose pressed to the man's neck, breathing in the scent of him.

The usual rugged wilderness, body odor, sweat, and that ever so faint spiced oil, dark and perfumed and ingrained into his very skin. Consuming the fuel was not recommended in the slightest, but Wilson was revelling in the smell of it on his partner, something much sweeter than ugly cigars.

It brought to mind the present, not the past, and that was enough for him.

Maxwell quieted under him, breathed deeply, and seemed to just be relaxing under Wilsons stout weight. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to keep the thinner man down, and after a moment Wilson ran his dulled claws down the mans clothed sides, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths of that spicy, warm smell. He was still bare, hadn't made himself decent just yet, and it was warm, pressing his sensitive nether regions to the mans backside and enjoying the heat, the touch.

Maxwell wiggled under his hands, a slight struggle for a moment that wasn't really focused upon, and Wilson hadn't even realized he was smiling until he pressed his mouth to the mans bare neck, soft, a brief brush of skin to skin as he felt the man shiver underneath him.

It wasn't a kiss, he told himself, just a simple touch of affection. No matter what, he knew he cared for the older man, in some odd, twisted way.

And the intimate act from earlier had soothed his tenseness, made him feel more amicable, and right now laying upon Maxwell and taking in his scent, his aura, seemed like the nicest thing.

“Say, _pal_ ,” Wilson hummed, a sneaky tone entering his voice as his hands moved, brushed downwards to Maxwell's pants, fiddling dull claws with the edge, his tucked in shirt slowly undone. “-you don't look so good. How about I repay you, hmm?” 

Parroting the words back always felt like an accomplishment of sorts, and feeling Maxwells breath shudder, pick up as he smoothly brushed the skin of his shrunken belly, was inviting. 

He did wait, a moment, a few moments, claws ghosting skin and teasing of much more, before Maxwell heaved out a breath, nodding his head.

Wilson helped the man up a bit, or at least made sure he was on his knees, one hand going to press the man's upper half against the blankets as he practically mounted him. He was short, but he had his chest against Maxwells back and his legs touched the ground, leaning forward his entire weight upon the other man, and this made sure his exposed groin was pressed to a warm, bony backside.

He wasn't aiming to get hard again, but as if he'd deny getting a bit more touch down there, as a soft comfort. Maxwell breathed deep, the side of his face in blankets and eyes closed, face red and warm looking even as his expression remained closed off, and Wilson let his claws travel back to sharp hips, pressing his face against a bony spine and enjoying the scent, the feeling.

He really, really liked being on top.

With that given consent, this time he didn't waste time or tease as much, pushing his claws past the band of Maxwell's pants and boxers, diving in as a small smile spread over his face.

“Awfully wet down there, Max. You find me that attractive?” 

It could almost be a compliment, the way Maxwell shuddered about his dull claws, hands fisting into the blankets as he turned his face to hide himself into the furs. Wilson hummed in satisfaction, slowly wiggling his clawed fingers and pressing, teasing touch on the other man.

Wilson had it a bit more easy, he had to admit. At least his genitalia were external, easy to access and take care of. Maxwell had it a bit harder to say the least.

Not to say that Wilson did not like it. Sex and such things have never caught his interest much in the past, so he had no preference, but the fact that Maxwell had the opposite of him was almost a bonus, _especially_ after what it had been like back when the other man had been on the Throne.

And he had spoken right; the other man was very, very aroused.

He twisted his hand, explored a bit more, wiggling his claws all the while, and Maxwell was shuddering underneath him, gulping in big gasps of air, all hot and bothered just by Wilsons claws. His other hand kept a steady hold on the mans bony hip, dipping touch down onto his belly at times, and it was almost a surprise to feel the man clench upon his claws and buck his hips for a split second.

Maxwell was always quiet, when it came to this, yet he made a sound, a mix between a hiss and a groan, muffled by fur blankets, and Wilson smirked at the display, pressed himself closer.

He could feel himself stirring, just at the man's voice, but he didn't mind it. Rubbing himself slowly against Maxwells clothed backside, biting his lower lip as he enjoyed the feeling, the growing warmth in his gut, just hearing Maxwell as he huffed out gasps was reward enough.

Nothing more was said between them, Wilson rubbing his slowly hardening cock out against the other man's body, his claws ever moving and rubbing delicious patterns in warm slick heat, Maxwell finally moaning into the blankets, a muffled groan as he rocked his hips, against those pressing, touching hands and the length pressed behind him. 

He had half a mind to mention how slick the man was, to whisper in his ear how warm and moist and hot, but Wilson saved that for later, another time. For now, he buried his nose into a bundled suit jacket and the bony spine underneath, increasing his pace with both hand and hips, breathing in deep that dark spiced smell.

Having released already, he was close, very close.

And he wanted Maxwell to be close as well.

Which, by the sounds of it, wasn't too far off. Maxwell rocked with quiet moans, gasps of light huffed sound, hands fisted into the blankets still as Wilson rutted against him, and with every movement his claws were pressing deeper, coated in heat and wet, feeling the shuddering of the older man all about his hand.

His own orgasm hit first, rather suddenly and without warning, and he stuttered, rutted his pulsing cock against Maxwells back end a few more times, leaking out spurts of cum with each thrust. His claws curled, the moan from him louder than Maxwells, drowning him out, and he was pressing his chapped lips to the mans clothed back, almost kisses as he felt Maxwell shudder, jerk in his arms as he came. 

The man collapsed down, Wilson still on top of him, his bare chest getting messy from what he had spent upon Maxwells back, and he slowed his movings claws to a stop, felt the slick walls convulse and tighten before loosening up once more.

Just thinking about what that felt like upon another part of him, not his claws, almost made him feel excited again. Almost, but not quite; coming twice in such a short amount of time was enough for him.

Maxwell panted underneath him, quiet, and after a moment Wilson pulled his wet claws out of the other man's pants. He didn't remove himself, just laid there, pressing the side of his face against the mans bony back, feeling him breath, slowly, as he opened his eyes, looked out into the darkness of the warm, cozy tent. 

It was nice, he had to admit that. Nice, to share in this intimacy, to bring pleasure to each other, and then to hold tight, warm and comforting, to another person in the end.

Nothing would fix what had been done to him, nor to Maxwell, and he had no forgiveness to give, not anymore. This wasn't the person he wanted to do this with, not by a longshot.

But, in times like these, holding onto the other man's thin frame, practically clinging to him and feeling his every drawn breath, it was simple enough to appreciate what he had.

And what he had, Wilson thought, closing his eyes and nuzzling his face into worn clothing, sore muscles and warm, sweaty skin, was Maxwell.

Just like how Maxwell, had him.


End file.
